


and the rest is silence

by Darnaguen



Category: Historical RPF, Will (TV 2017)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Ghosts, Historically Accurate Character Death, Literature, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Speculation, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darnaguen/pseuds/Darnaguen
Summary: There was this interesting prompt post on Tumblr and I was given a prompt “A book infested with ghosts.” Having watched a couple of episodes of TNT's new 'Will' the only thing I could think of was its portrayal of Kit Marlowe. And, well, the rest is history.My Shakespeare is super rusty and this is, hmm, wordier than my usual style. So, have mercy?





	and the rest is silence

–

The streets of London are abuzz with hushed rumours; the taverns are quiet, the groundlings restless.

Finally, a word carries across town from brothels to palaces, from The Globe to The Rose and back: _The great Christopher Marlowe is dead_.

*

His candle has burned into a flickering stub when there’s a knock on the door. The Hour of the Wolf – though the hour hardly matters. He blinks at the shadows dancing on the walls and runs ink-stained fingers over his face.

Young Walsingham’s face is like a bleak mirror in the dark hallway: his eyes are swollen and red, his complexion ashen. The bitter lines around his mouth deepen when he shoves a leather-bound tome into his hands.

“He wanted you to have this.” 

It doesn’t quite succeed in sounding like anything but an accusation, so he gives a curt bow and walks briskly away like a man freed from cumbersome duty.

*

A slanted shaft of bright moonlight pierces through a crack in the shutters and falls over his bed. He sits, heavily, and turns the book over in his hands.

 _“Tamburlaine the Ghost”_  reads the first page in bold, blood-red ink. “A play by C. Marlowe and W. Shakespeare”. Alchemical symbols adorn the margins. He closes his eyes and swallows, lips compelled to whisper a prayer. 

Faint laughter echoes in his ears and he feels a hot breath on his neck.  _”Sweet Will. Thou wouldst fret over mine soul?”_

“Always.” The word comes out as a strangled laugh.

The warm, mocking cadence with the ever-present edge of madness grows distant like a fading dream:

_“Fret not, dear friend, for Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”_

–

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's probably sacrilegious or something to attribute that last line to Marlowe, but I've kind of always thought it sounds like something he would say, and in the context of the show... You know?
> 
> eta: *high-fives the show*


End file.
